This is not the fault in our stars. This blog is an honest account of the brutal, disgusting, deeply hilarious and unexpected realities of being sick. While I love me some John Green as much as the next girl, I am done with the neatly wrapped, sepia-toned Hollywood presentation. This is the real version, where hand tremors ruin your selfies and your eyeliner, and nobody’s kissing in the rain, and you don’t look like Shailene Woodley. This is the version where the guy you met on a dating app asks you on the first date if you have a functional uterus. I call bullshit on this little game of romanticizing illness. Chronically ill humans are BADASS- not because of the drama in our lives, but because of how we get around it.
Those of you who are blessed with functional immune systems will not be bored. We all have hidden illnesses nobody can see, whether it be Lupus, or anxiety, or an uncontrollable chocolate fetish. Yes, I write about being chronically ill, but I write for those of us who are chronically human. My hope is that here, you’ll find magic in the knowledge that literally every single person in the whole world is pretending to have their shit together. Nobody truly does. You are not alone. Unless you do have your shit entirely together, in which case GTFO, nobody wants you here.